


vitenskapskvinne

by aquarium_seeds



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Awesome Jane Foster, BAMF Jane Foster, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, F/M, Jane Foster Loves Science, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Thor AU, Thor: The Dark World AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21580036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquarium_seeds/pseuds/aquarium_seeds
Summary: Were Frigga more prone to tavern colloquialisms, she would have to admit that everything had gone to shit. As it was, being Queen, she said nothing; and instead held her head high and swept along through the Palace Halls with Jane Foster at her heels.
Relationships: Jane Foster & Frigga | Freyja, Jane Foster & Sif, Jane Foster & The Warriors Three, Jane Foster/Thor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	vitenskapskvinne

Whispers had reignited the moment the Bifröst had drawn Thor and the mortal up from Midgard-- the usual mixture of disdain and scorn that had plagued Thor as soon is it became known he had given his heart to a woman of Midgard. Frigga, having been ‘that Vanaheim witch-harlot’ eons ago, when Odin had first begun to court her, held her opinion and her judgement. The whispers of the people, unfounded rumors created and circulated by jealous tavern wenches and swains (who had previously had all of Thor’s attention and patronage, until he returned from Midgard a more humble, changed man) and the disappointed dignitaries of various provinces and planets, swore that the girl-child must have enslaved his mind. 

Frigga had so far been impressed by the fierceness of spirit Jane Foster had displayed to Odin. It was not often anyone rebuked her husband as perhaps he ought to be rebuked-- many millennia of Kingship having made his manners blunt and his manner brusque. When her handmaid Bodil had rushed into her receiving chambers, breathless with new gossip, Frigga had joined with her attendants in gasps and giggles as Bodil recounted the tiny mortal’s scolding (which was well deserved, Frigga thought. How dare Odin treat a guest as such? Frigga, as Hearth Mother of Valaskjálf, took her duties of hospitality very seriously). The laughter had dissolved with the added news that the woman was infected with the Aether, and her outlook bleak. Frigga had sucked in a breath. To be alive at all, with such power imploding through her veins, was aweing. 

It took only a quick inquiry to the Einherjar posted without her chambers to send Frigga sweeping off to meet this mortal for herself. There were reparations to be made, preparations to be seen to-- perhaps her husband had forgotten that this woman was the first citizen of Midgard to stand upon these golden floors in time out of mind, but she had not. This mortal woman was emissary and ambassador for her people, now, however unwittingly. And with how Frigga’s weaving had gathered into complicated patterns surrounding the future of Midgard, she knew not to underestimate the importance of this first meeting. 

Frigga concealed herself within the familiar cloaking of her Seiðr. Knowledge of her new guest was vital both as cunning diplomat and as worried mother. She waited in one of the grand atriums for her son and the woman’s approach.

Jane Foster, ill with the nearly unlimited power of the Aether packed into her tiny body, was obviously fatigued-- though you wouldn’t know it from her bearing. Frigga recognized the straight back and firm shoulders as tells for nervousness-- as well as the slight lines around the eyes pulled taut with pain. Frigga felt unexpected sympathy rise within her. Stars know she had held that pose, that gaze, when she had first come to Asgard under much more auspicious circumstances so long ago. To see that awkward state of hope and longing for Thor, and fear of his people and customs, made Frigga want to wrap the mortal up in a hug and smooth her hair. Frigga remembered wishing for a gentle touch and kind words when she had first arrived in Asgard. The reflection between her girlhood self and this mortal woman were strikingly similar.

Again, irritation flashed at her husband for his poor treatment of their guest. Did he not see the confidence allowing this woman to carve a place for herself among these glowing pillars and golden halls? Did he not recognize the core of uru that allowed her to not only survive, but continue to endure the unimaginable pain of an ancient magical entity violating a body not meant for the extremes of Seiðr, let alone a cosmic energy force so omnipotent that it’s powers were legendary even to the indestructible Æsir? At least, Frigga scoffed, the woman had been provided appropriate attire. The Ambassadors Guild would have been responsible for the clothing of a new emissary. The dull browns of her gown were obviously another snub, performed by the envious and resentful dignitaries as a punitive ‘final word’ for being ordered to cater to whom they saw as inferior. Frigga took note to visit the ambassadorial suites to remind those tenants what would and would not be tolerated in her House. The woman would be so much better suited to jewel tones and glittering gems. 

Frigga was taken aback at the sudden fierceness of protective instincts surging within her-- and remembered, suddenly, that this was the woman who had taken in her brash, arrogant son and returned to her a son made stronger with humility and compassion. Now she could see why. The obvious respect she displayed, her careful attitude of deference to the architecture and art lining the walkway, the nods of grateful acquiescence to the guards holding open doors, the intelligence in her eyes-- all markers of a truly exceptional person. Suddenly, Thor’s pining made perfect sense.

Thor and the woman were murmuring to one another with obvious affection. Her tiny hands were made more impossibly small in comparison with her son’s palms. Softly, Jane Foster spoke.

“When you came for me, you knew I was in trouble.”

How could he not have? The entire realm knew how Thor traveled to the end of the Bifröst at the close of each day, asking after her. The peasants found it endearingly romantic, the sign of a kind heart in the future King. The nobles and dignitaries turned up their noses, citing foolish sentimentality (while secretly wishing their children were the recipients of such devotion).

“Heimdall had lost sight of you, you were no longer on Earth.”

“How is that possible?”

Frigga was once again impressed. A scientific inquiry rather than accusations or tears.

Thor explained what the Æsir were taught as tiny schoolchildren-- how the realms were interconnected, always revolving and orbiting, and now-- converging. The two joined in a kiss. 

“I like the way you explain things,” said Jane Foster in a sweet murmur. Then, with more solemnity: “What’s going to happen to me?”

“I’ll find a way to save you, Jane.” Ah, her wonderful, brash, optimistic son.

“Your father said there was--”

“My father doesn’t know everything.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Frigga stepped from her Seiðr. Thor, with the look of one who has endured a thousand years of magical eavesdropping, turned himself and the woman to greet her.

“Jane Foster, please meet Frigga, the Queen of Asgard, my mother.” Jane Foster sprang from Thor’s side, extracting her hand from his, establishing herself as her own entity. Frigga approved. 

“Ah, hi,” said Jane Foster, flustered and fussing with her gown. Then, she gathered herself. “Your Majesty. It’s an honor.” She dropped into-- not quite a curtsey, but a close enough approximation. Frigga nodded with a smile. “I am Jane Foster. Thank you for having me-- for allowing me-- thank you for letting me be here.” She bobbed another half-curtsey. She bit her lip, released it, grabbed her hands, released them, and finally held her hands carefully at her sides with her spine straight. Frigga stepped forward with a smile to take her hands.

“Welcome,” she said warmly. “Asgard is honored to have you.”

Jane Foster did not have the façade of a disingenuous politician, like so many at Valaskjálf’s court. Frigga could see, through Jane Foster’s polite and kind smile, that she did not believe Frigga at all. Frigga could imagine the shadow of Odin looming over this woman, proclaiming her a goat and a mayfly, a passing interest unworthy of attention or aid. How could she not disbelieve Frigga’s welcome? 

Frigga smiled wider, with sadness pulling at her heart. Now was the time for reparations and tentative overtures of friendship; to care for this woman’s tired body, shattered health-- and there was Realm Shock to think of. Many unseasoned warriors trained on Asgard’s battle ground were hard-tested to maintain their mettle in the face of entirely new surroundings and customs when first off-planet. That Jane Foster had not already succumbed to the tears and existential uncertainty of Realm Shock was another credit to the indomitable strength of her character. Still, Frigga knew it would not last forever, and she already had the notion that Jane Foster would rather her anguish not be seen nor discussed. Yes, now was the time to offer warm food and a comfortable bed. How remiss of her son not to have offered them already. 

Thor, likely still reeling from the news of his love’s dire predicament, should still not have forgotten to offer the woman sustainment. His training as Prince was obviously discarded in the face of desolate despair. In fact, it seemed that Jane Foster was bolstering Thor, rather than he succoring her. Perhaps another thing Thor found so enchanting about the woman-- so rarely was a Prince was able to drop his guard, and depend upon another for strength. Jane Foster had strength enough, it seemed, to uphold him and support her own tenuous position at the same time. 

Frigga opened her mouth to offer all the hospitality of Asgard to Jane Foster.

The klaxon blaring of alarms rang throughout the golden halls, echoing ominously from pillar to pillar. The prison! That alarm had not been triggered in thousands of years. All thoughts of warm baths and hearty food were swept away with fearful apprehension. It was no accident that one of the most powerful forces in the cosmos had arrived on Asgard just before the prisons were breached for the first time in thousands of years. Frigga felt regret that the tiny Jane Foster was inextricably involved in this. A woman of knowledge and numbers for enlightenment’s sake was unlikely to understand the vicious violence others were willing to inflict to gain such power as she held. Frigga hoped Jane Foster’s fortitude would not fail her. Hardships were undoubtedly multiplying. It would be a long day’s travel before the comfort of the inn, as the saying went. Frigga felt frustration that once again, Jane Foster could not be offered the luxuries of Asgard as Frigga wished. Instead, now, it was time to retreat to the strongholds within Valaskjálf. 

Thor, alert and quivering with battle lust, looked helplessly between Jane Foster and his mother.

“Go, I will look after her,” Frigga ordered. Thor, with one last longing look at Jane Foster (who nodded with stern encouragement, and reassured, “I’ll be alright”), ran towards the prison. “Come with me,” Frigga urged, and guided Jane Foster into the formation of Einherjar assembling from their posts to form a phalanx of protection. 

Were Frigga more prone to tavern colloquialisms, she would have to admit that everything had gone to shit. As it was, being Queen, she said nothing; and instead held her head high and swept along through the Palace Halls with Jane Foster at her heels. 

Jane Foster’s pace flagged almost immediately, though she determinedly kept right behind Frigga. Frigga did not wish to imply weakness or inadequacy by offering physical assistance, and the phalanx could not slow down. It was imperative to get to safety. So, she contented herself by strategizing. 

It was not uncommon for parts of the royal family to go into places of hiding to wait out the worst of battles-- someone from the royal family must survive, no matter the cost. The realm depended on its rulers. Frigga knew these strongholds well, had fortified them herself with protective and shielding spells. There would be enough comfort there to tend to Jane Foster, though it was rather austere by Asgardian royal standards. At last, they reached the strong hold. The Einherjar peeled off two by two along the corridor, positioning themselves for security. The heavy, ornate doors gouged with protective runes swung open and closed behind Frigga and Jane Foster. 

Jane Foster almost immediately collapsed upon a settee, trying to conceal her stertorous breathing and lifting a shaking hand to her forehead. Frigga busied herself with the necessary Seiðr to reinforce the stronghold. After some complicated spellwork, she dropped her hands and went to Jane Foster. 

“Jane Foster,” said Frigga gravely. “I am saddened that you have not been welcomed as you ought. The feats of knowledge you have accomplished are a tribute to your world, and has helped cement Midgard as a future ally of Asgard. Also,” she winked with a mischievous smile, “You have charmed my son, and wrought a change in him-- brought forth the humility and compassion hidden deep behind his arrogance and selfishness.”

“No,” said Jane Foster, briefly surprising Frigga. But of course, she had not been raised by courtiers nor trained in the subtle (and irritating) arts of court sycophants. The change was refreshing. “No. Thor did that on his own. He’s a good man with a good heart. I didn’t change him, so much as he discovered himself.” Her conviction was heartwarming. It did Frigga’s mother-heart good to see her son’s devotion reflected in the woman he loved. Jane Foster winced, suddenly, as if remembering she spoke with a Queen. 

Frigga laughed, and knelt to hug the woman. Jane Foster seemed very surprised, reacting a tad too late to the arms enclosing hers. After a moment, she sunk into the embrace, clutching at Frigga’s shoulders. Frigga squeezed harder. She had not been a mother for a millennia without learning when to hold someone close. Jane Foster let in a stuttering breath. Frigga prepared herself for the tears to follow-- but was again surprised by the woman’s iron will when Jane Foster pulled back and smiled tremulously at Frigga. 

“I’m sorry for all this,” Jane Foster said, gesturing around the room and slumping her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to cause all this trouble. I know I’m a liability. I really, really didn’t mean to impose. I--”

“Hush,” soothed Frigga. “My son went to retrieve you, you had no part in any imagined insult.”

“Yeah,” said Jane Foster, with a small laugh. “Thor just sort of swept me away. Arguing with him is like arguing with a hurricane.”

They both laughed softly. “You are more right than you know,” said Frigga with a smile. She raised herself to sit on the settee. “You are fatigued,” she said, “and require rest and nourishment. I can only apologize for the boorish attitude displayed to you upon your arrival. Please allow me recompense by caring for you as a hostess should.”

“Oh, no,” said Jane Foster, raising a hand. “I completely understand. No one wants the Prince’s mortal girlfriend to arrive on the doorstep. Shatters the illusion that cave-dwelling mortals still view Asgardians as gods.” She laughed a little, before gasping in horror. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend--” 

“Hush,” laughed Frigga. “You are quite correct. Many, in this realm of ancients, have forgotten or ignore our Sister-Realms. It will do them good to see the strength and capabilities of a mortal of Midgard.”

Jane Foster smiled, a little sadly. “I’m no good with people,” she admitted. “I never know the right thing to say, and usually I just say what I think. It doesn’t make me very popular at parties.” She gave a little shrug. “Sorry. I really don’t mean to be rude.”

“You are not,” assured Frigga. “Honesty and directness is what drives both conversation and government.”

“Still,” Jane Foster replied, “Sorry. I’m not a great conversationalist.”  
Frigga did not attempt to rebut. Obviously this was a long-ingrained and perhaps painfully learned lesson from childhood. Frigga remembered the insults and degradations from school mates when she was a child. What was it like, she wondered, to grow up so quickly and not have the time to shed from oneself the unkind verdicts of others? 

She rose to her feet, going to a cabinet to withdraw the foodstuffs hidden there. Arranging various dried meats and fruits on a platter with cheese, she returned to Jane Foster, setting the platter on a small table drawn close to the settee. Then she went to retrieve a pitcher to fill with water. Jane Foster waited for her, now reclined more heavily upon the arm of the settee. She kept blinking slower and slower, struggling to remain alert. 

“Please,” said Frigga over her shoulder at the basin. “Eat. You must nourish your body, if it is to survive the infection of the Aether.”

“Or,” said her companion quietly, “It will only feed it until it becomes strong enough to kill me.” It seemed that she was unaware she had spoken. Frigga had not wished to make clear to her the possibility of that very occurrence. It seemed Jane Foster was more perceptive than she seemed. 

Frigga said nothing, only setting the filled pitcher at the table and reaching for some food. Jane Foster, apparently waiting for this, also reached for food a moment after Frigga withdrew her hand. They both ate quietly, as Jane Foster sagged more pronouncedly each moment. Her eyes, earlier bright with wonder and intelligence, were dulled with pain and exhaustion. Frigga lifted a hand to her companion’s forehead-- Jane Foster flinched at the gesture, before relaxing. Frigga filed away the flinch for later thought. 

“You need rest,” she said gravely. “Come with me, I shall prepare a bed.” 

Silently, Jane Foster followed Frigga to a chamber with a bed, lit with sunlight. Frigga drew back the bedclothes. Jane Foster slid between the sheets and was asleep in the same moment. Frigga tenderly placed her head on a pillow, drew the covers up over her, and stood a moment’s watch over her, observing her face creasing with pain. Frigga tucked the bedclothes closer around her, a mother’s futile gesture of comfort. After a time, she drew back, and retreated to a sitting room. 

Now, Frigga pulled her Seiðr close about her, drawing from it the knowledge she sought. The battle in the prison raged on, her bold son and his closest friends beating back the onslaught. There seemed to be a single being who had incited all the cell inhabitants-- a large being, with Dark Seiðr drawn closely about him. There was something else… a magical signature she had not sensed since…

The Dark Elves! Frigga’s Seiðr almost dissolved at her sudden shock. Surely, it could not be? A lesser Seiðmaster would not have believed their own senses-- but Frigga knew her magic was correct. A Dark Elf. In Asgard! The implications sent her reeling. Bor had killed the last of their ilk near the dawn of his reign. How was it now here, then? Her mind spun with ideas, created and discarded in flashes of inspiration. How to get this information to her husband? A message sent by Einherjar or Apprentice would take too long. Both Odin’s ravens were off flying Yggdrasil. The only way was by astral projection. Gathering her Seiðr, she concentrated.


End file.
